CHAPTER SIX
That evening, after five hours of driving and digging, I return to my suite at the Fairmont and take a long hot shower in the sprawling marble bathroom. I feel like every muscle in my body has been poisoned by my choices today.
Clive is gone.
I’ve killed a man.
I am staying indefinitely in the one place on this continent I couldn’t loathe more.
I’ve just given my blood to a librarian, and it looks like I’m going to be her assistant.
Within the space of twenty-four hours, I don’t know who I’ve become.
I finish rinsing my hair and hear my cell phone ringing in the other room. I shut off the shower, grab a towel to dry my hands, and go out to the bedroom. I see it’s Lula, my society’s secretary. The phone is sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed where I left it, and given that I’m dripping wet, I hit speaker.
Lula’s face pops up on the phone and the camera is aimed straight at my manhood at an upward angle. “Michael, wow. That is an impressive view, but how about not teasing a girl, huh?”
I growl. “How many times have I told you not to Facetime me?” I’m technologically savvier than most vampires or humans, but I still forget to check what type of call it is.
“Your problem. Not mine.” Her smile takes up most of the screen. On the surface, she reminds me of Miriam. Big brown eyes, blonde hair, and a bit quirky. But Lula is over two hundred years old and still behaves like she’s sixteen—horny, impulsive, and belligerent. Regardless, I like her simply because she’s not stuffy like other vampires.
She adds, “You know I just love, love catching you off guard, and it’s precisely for moments like these! Can I get a hubba hubba?”
I grumble a minor insult, pick up the phone, and point it toward my face. “What do you want?”
“I can’t remember. I guess my head is full of wood?” She chuckles at herself.
“Funny.”
“I know, right? But hey, I’m calling because the phone’s been ringing off the hook; all of our families are demanding answers.”
“And they are asking…?”
“Is it true you’re leaving us for,” she makes a gag sound, “for that creepy Arizona sunshine cult?”
Wonderful. I still cannot believe how quickly information travels in this age. It’s going to take me another hundred years to grasp the concept that privacy is dead. By then, I’ll likely have my own reality TV show and not even know it.
“No. It is not true.” I fill her in on what’s happened, knowing that Lula can be trusted with my life. She obtained her role from Clive after he turned her. She was the daughter of Clive’s longtime friend, and she was diagnosed with leukemia. Back then, no one survived it. On her deathbed, as a favor to her father, Clive gave her his blood with the conditions that no one ever ask questions and she had to die on paper. Lula’s father, who became a historically beloved president, agreed. Lula became a ghost in the history books, the records showing she died as a child. In reality, she remained her father’s constant companion until his dying breath. She is a good woman—the definition of it.
“Horsty, such drama today! Say it isn’t so!”
I draw a deep breath. Good woman. And annoying. “Mister. Vander. Horst. Learn it, Lula. And learn it well.”
“Why? They’re gonna fry you.”
“For what? For caring about Clive?” I say.
“No. For killing some useless inbred on someone else’s territory in broad daylight, lying to another society’s leader, and for turning a human without filing the proper petition or meeting any of the predetermined criteria.”
The criteria are simple. The person has to be a person of interest—critical to all vampires’ survival. That means someone capable of covering our tracks—accountants, politicians, and people of power. In addition, they can’t be psychotic, though that is open to interpretation. Otherwise, one has to petition. If it is a matter of life and death, and, say, for argument’s sake, the human is a family member or spouse of the vampire, and said vampire turns them without approval, then they will face extraordinary punishment. Bottom line, we all have family, bloodlines, and loved ones. Turning everyone we ever cared for could jeopardize our secret existence since a small population is far easier to keep quiet.
I clear my throat. “She won’t turn because she’s going to heal.”
“You don’t know that, and why would you risk it?” Lula asks.
“She’s special.”
“Errrr…like, boner special? Or cosmic special?” Lula asks.
“Why must you always be so crass?”
“It’s my thing. Answer me,” she insists.
I want Lula’s help. That means I need to answer truthfully because any action she takes on my behalf hitches her wagon to mine.
“Miriam is…” I hesitate, searching for the words while I take my towel in the other hand and start patting my wet hair. “Beautifully selfless.” And alone and weird and kind.
“Does she have a nice rack?”
“What?” I bark.
“It’s just a question, your holy catastrophe. I find men—human, vampire, or otherwise—are more apt to proclaim ‘special status’ for a female if their boobs are, say…C cup or larger?”
I finish my one-handed drying and toss the towel onto the beige armchair in the corner near the fireplace. “Miriam’s breasts have nothing to do with this. I’ve never even looked at them.” Because she covers herself in two layers of unflattering clothing.
“Doesn’t matter now,” Lula says. “You’ve given her your blood.”
“Yes,” I say with conviction. “And I don’t require your judgment.”
“I’m saving the judging for tomorrow, after we find out if I have a new sister of the night.”
I suck the air through my teeth. “What was I to do, Lula, allow her to die?”
“You hardly know the woman and you intervened.”
“I know this,” I say dismissively.
“Then why, Horsty?” Lula asks, sounding more upset than she should. I genuinely don’t comprehend why.
“Stop calling me that,” I say.
“Fine. Then why, Mr. Vanderhorst?”
I rub my forehead and breathe out my words. “I don’t know, Lula. I think I’m losing my mind.” They ended Clive’s life without any regard for who he truly was. And just like that, the world is out one very good man. Where’s the damned justice in that? “Clive, who has given more to civilization than anyone I’ve ever known, has been snubbed out, and I’m not sure I can make sense of anything.”
There’s a long, long moment of silence. “Kill ’em, Michael. End the people who did this.”
For the second time today, I’m shocked. I’m simply not used to feeling anything, let alone having emotions rule me. But at this moment, they are. Lula’s words only serve to fuel them.
She adds, “I’ll cover for you—anything you need. Just act quickly and come home. We’ll deal with the aftermath together.” She sighs with the deepest sorrow. “I can’t get through this on my own, Michael. I can’t.”
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.” I look down at my bare feet and nod though she can’t see me. “I’ll let you know what I need.”
“But no librarian, Michael. I’ve lost too much and can’t share right now.”
Lula isn’t claiming me sexually, but emotionally. Vampires have few attachments, and when we are in need, we need with everything in our hearts and souls. Plus, we simply don’t like sharing. “I understand.”
“Good,” she says. “I’ll hold down the fort in the meantime.”
“Thank you, Lula.” She is an anchor in my stormy sea. “By the way, can you find me a furnished apartment? Something a person my age might rent?” She knows when I say “my age” I mean twenty and that I’m asking because I have to establish residency in addition to employment in order to remain in this territory under the law. The catch is that the law also states our kind never lives beyond the means of our human cover story. In short, librarians do not live in mansions or drive Mercedes; neither do their college-aged assistants. Back home in Cincinnati, I own a very nice house and lovely cars because I had a wealthy uncle (me) who left a nice trust fund behind. I work in an entry-level job as a researcher—from which I’m currently taking a “vacation”—but they all think I do it for my passion to cure rare blood disorders. The truth is I find the job interesting and it allows me to study my own “disorder” after hours. It also grants me access to an easy food supply. It’s a win-win for all.
Here in Phoenix? Not so much.
“You got it,” Lula says. “One modest dwelling coming right up. I’ll text you the address later. Good luck, Michael.”
“Thank you, Lula.”
“Thank me by coming home,” she says with a tinge of worry.
She gets that I’m on shaky ground by being here. On a good day, I can outwit and outmaneuver any vampire—physically or mentally. But right now, I’ve made a mess of things. I have let my emotions take over. First by killing the librarian’s boyfriend and then by giving her my blood. Don’t forget lying to the locals so I can pressure them to find Clive’s killer.
Jesus. What am I? A hundred years old? I throw the phone on the bed and decide it’s time to turn in. I’m a night sleeper and today needs to be over.